


please don't bite.

by Prettything_uglylie



Series: fictober 2020 [4]
Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: Drugged Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Having Sex While Stoned, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Spit As Lube, Spit Kink, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettything_uglylie/pseuds/Prettything_uglylie
Relationships: John Bender/Brian Johnson
Series: fictober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954993
Kudos: 87





	please don't bite.

Brian Johnson is smoking from his blunt and John Bender can't stop staring. He looks devilishly pretty like this, like one of those chicks his dad hangs up as a pin-up that have dumbass names like _Cherry_ or _Kitten_ or something stupid, like one of those chicks he should want, but he's just Brian Johnson - just a boy, strong and beyond stupid to still spend time with him. 

After their little bonding rehearsal, the Breakfast Club had split their respective ways and it had all been telephone silence - up until one night, rain beating down and world feeling different, like a movie, Brian Johnson had been standing outside of his window, rambling in a voice just loud enough for his old man to hear that he had some sort of mental breakdown and John had dragged him inside. The kid was wet then, dripping all over his fucking floors and what is he to do? Let him get sick? No, he found a pair of his clothes that would hopefully fit the scrawny brainiac and had pretended for the rest of the night he didn't notice how good Brian looked in his clothes or on his bed, even when he lays down the next morning and jerks off to the memory of Brian laying beside him. It's sick, okay? It's fucked up and he knows it, but something about Brian Johnson's pretty mouth and his wide eyes and his awkward voice does more for John Bender than any pin-up ever could. 

But ever since that night, Brian hasn't stopped being a frequent visitor in his room, whether to drink, smoke or watch movies on his bed, he's actually found he enjoys spending time with him. 

Like tonight, a night where the moon gleams through his basement bedroom, shining into the curtains slightly and leaving a bizarre puddle on the concrete - _gets cold down here, man,_ Brian had complained once but had worn knitted socks that the criminal finds unbearably cute ever since so the complaint was taken with a grain of salt - flooring. His room is a parphanilia that a rocker teenager lives here, posters half put up on the wall, a guitar with three strings leaning against a wall, a dresser with one of the drawers broken and not able to be pushed in all the way, his clothes strewn across the floor and the bed along with Brian strewn there. 

He looks like a pin-up, like a weird, awkward pin-up with his shaking knee to a song he's clearly never heard and his sunglasses tilted by the force of the bed pushing up around him.

His mouth is swollen. 

Bender, on the other side of the room, thrown across something that resembles a desk chair, can't stop looking at him. 

"You still a virgin?" He asks, staring at the light khakis of the boy's and the knitted light blue sweater with his blue woolen socks, all matching his eyes and he can't unsee the color pattern. The question hangs in the air between them. 

Brian leans up, looking at him with a crinkled brow and Bender can see him assessing the situation, biting at those pretty lips that he's thought about doing the same to. Say no, he probably thinks, and get interrogated or say yes and get made fun of - he's probably nervous. Bender isn't; he's checking in the only way he can that passes as casual.

His face morphs into something like bitter acceptance before admitting with a shrug, "Yeah...no real interest." 

"Liar." He snorts, pointing with his cigarette at the other boy and continuing to talk without knowing why he says the things he does, "Course there's interest. Just no chick, huh?" 

Brian's pretty cheeks go pink in a shade enough to match his bitten mouth before he murmurs something unintelligible and Bender makes a noise that makes it clear he wants him to repeat himself before he mutters, "Not a chick I'm into..." 

_Oh._

"Is it me?" He asks, possessed in some kind of way. Brian looks at him beneath those glasses but he knows he's all wide-eyed and deer-like at this very moment. The weed makes them both a little more honest in this moment. 

Brian nods. The atmosphere shifts for the third time this night and Bender can't breathe but trusts his instincts, the guise he's built. He stands, feeling sure and hopeful and brave enough by Brian's confession and when he pushes Brian back to sprawl on his bed, he is salivating at how easily Brian goes. 

_Good boy,_ he thinks and wonders if Brian would like to hear it so he murmurs it out loud and Brian's hips thrust into him - hard in his ridiculous pants. 

"I'm gonna jerk you off," he decides to both himself and Brian and it makes the blonde boy throw his head back in a moan, the skin open enough that Bender's mouth dives down to latch at the skin of his throat, "and I'm gonna make you cum in my hand." 

_And I'm going to kiss you until both our mouths swell, until our lips bleed. I'll keep you forever, Brian Johnson, if you'll let me._ He thinks, maybe too smitten for this but just high enough to let his endorphins run anything. 

After suckling about six hickeys into the pale expanse of Brian's throat, he decides to call it a day and moves to undo his pants just to be surprised when a hand latches around his before Brian asks, voice on the better side of wrecked, "What about you?" 

It's sweet, it's sweet and it's innocent and it's perfectly Brian; it makes Bender want to do terrible erotic things to him. 

"I'll cum." 

Brian's eyebrows crinkle and with a moment's decision, he knows he wants to see the boy's eyelids half-lidded and his pupils expand so he rips the glasses off none-too-gently. He doesn't need to be gentle, this isn't some fumble up some girls skirt, this is Brian Johnson, who is all unexpected quiet strength. He winces at the disrobement of his shades before asking, "How?" 

"Trust me," he grins out, "I will." 

He pulls his hand away from the grip and to fist in Brian's khakis, taking them and his blue boxers down in a single swoop before he leans over, watching the nerdy boy's face, fisting a hand around his cock. He unclenches the hand, too dry, and spits into the palm before rewrapping the hand. 

At the noises, Brian groans, throwing his marked neck back to mutter, "Fuckin' disgusting, actually gross, dude." 

_This is only the start of how gross I can be with you, Brian,_ he thinks, wrapping his hand back around the other boy's weeping cock. 

_Just you wait._


End file.
